The Bed and the Bachelor Read Online Free PDF Page A

epaulettes and shako helmet with a high red plume. She decided not to mention the fact that Thierry had fought for the French side rather than the British. She didn’t think Mrs. Tremble would approve.
    “He took a saber to the chest and died almost instantly,” she continued. “At least that is what I was told, and I prefer to think he didn’t suffer overmuch.”
    The older woman’s face softened. “Ye’ve my condolences on yer loss. War’s a terrible, senseless thing, if ye ask me. All those brave lads fighting and dying. I’ll be glad when it’s finally done.”
    Yes, Sebastianne thought, I can think of nothing I would like more, imagining the relief she would feel when the day finally arrived and the war was over at last. When she could lead her life again without fear or threat or deprivation.
    Without Sebastianne quite realizing it, Mrs. Tremble moved to the stove and back, returning with a teapot in hand. Deftly she poured Sebastianne a cup, then set down the pot. Steam wafted in tiny spirals from the russet-hued surface of the beverage, leaving Sebastianne to wait until it cooled enough to drink.
    “If ye don’t mind me asking, Mrs. Greenway,” the cook said, laying a fist at her hip, “what’s yer age? Frankly, ye don’t look as if you have enough years on you to be a housekeeper.”
    Sebastianne cocked her head and locked gazes with the other woman, her heart beating strongly in her chest. If she was to succeed, she knew she must rise to each challenge, every test. This one clearly could not be ignored.
    “And if you don’t mind my saying,” Sebastianne told her, “you don’t look as if you have enough fat on you to be a cook.”
    For a long moment Mrs. Tremble stared, her faded blue eyes turning wide. Then she shook her head and barked out a laugh, displaying a set of crooked teeth. “You an’ me, we jest might get on after all.”
    Sebastianne returned her smile but made no effort to answer the other woman’s question.
    After a moment, the cook turned and made her way back to the stove. “Not fat enough! Ha, ha,” Mrs. Tremble repeated under her breath, plainly amused.
    As for Finnegan, the kitchen maid was staring again—openmouthed this time—a half-peeled carrot dangling from her fingers. Polk looked astonished as well, the pan she held dripping soapy water. Taking note of Sebastianne’s inquiring gaze, the two young women returned quickly to their tasks.
    Sebastianne had just taken a first sip of tea when the kitchen door opened, and the butler, Mr. Stowe, strode inside. He was lean and moderately tall with greying black hair and eyes that put her in mind of a wise grandfather. Prior to that day, he was the only person in the house whom she had met—excepting his lordship, of course. Even so, she knew him very little, having only exchanged a few brief words with him at the time of her interview. But he had been kind and polite to her on that occasion—qualities she admired, actions she would not soon forget.
    “Pardon me for keeping you waiting so long,” he said, looking dapper in a neat black suit, a pair of square spectacles perched on his nose. “If you’re ready now, Mrs. Greenway, it would be my pleasure to show you the rest of the house and to give you a proper introduction to the staff.”
    Setting down her cup, she stood. “Thank you, Mr. Stowe. That would be most welcome.”
    “I presume you and Mrs. Tremble have had an opportunity to become acquainted?” he began.
    “We surely ’ave, Mr. Stowe,” the cook piped up from where she stood, stirring something in one of the pots for a moment before slamming a lid on top. “Mrs. Greenway and I ’ave been having a right coze here at my table before ye came to find her.”
    A faint look of surprise lighted the butler’s brown eyes as if he hadn’t expected Mrs. Tremble and the new housekeeper to get along. Words had quite likely been said among the staff prior to her arrival, along with expressions of unswerving